Notes on Psychiatry

How then may women understand their situation? What vocabularies and concepts are available to them to think about their world and to speak from their experience? Where are the expressive forms and the images and symbols which are capable of realizing the special character of their experience? How can they formulate their lives and feelings so they can speak to one another of what they have in common, declare who they are, make claims, speak with authority of their condition and recognize themselves fully in what is said?
Dorothy E. Smith.
-Women Look at Psychiatry

Notes on writing

How much it takes to become a writer, circumstances, time, development of craft , but beyond that: how much conviction as to the importance of what one has to say, ones right to say it. And the will, the measureless store of belief in oneself to be able to come to, cleave to, find the form for ones own life comprehensions. Difficult for any male not born into a class that breeds such confidence, almost impossible for a girl, a woman.
- Tille Olsen

The letting out of suppressed emotion

Kindliness and love. Those also have their heroism.



Today I'm leaving Ridgeway road, last few days have been an emptying of rooms and packing of boxes. There is a sad kind of sound an empty room makes, yet there's also a fullness of possibility within the naked shell. I feel sick and can't eat breakfast, at the bus stop I just felt numb and awkward. Remaining silent for fear of not being believed. "I'll miss you immeasurably" sounds exaggerated, but it's true I have no device to measure my emotions, where to begin as a starting point. You say I'll miss you too-and I'm able to believe that is true. Maybe now I have a place to start.
TRUST.

My brother was a farmer once, but he's in the army now.

The weight of arbitrary power rationalizing itself

No words for the confusion/

As from now the orbit of my sight is blue. Sluggards will sleep with dignity in my chambers, the bright lights of Rome will not startle them to life. They wiggle their toes and a child dies in Hankow.
I've been spitting blood for a week now, hope it's my teeth, better them than my guts; your mouth doesn't feel as internal as your "insides", vulnerable and raw to the touch.
Tell me your scars, know mine in return(is this how we take flight in dream?) I want to dream I love you and you dream it too, both be watchful of the damage that we do.

In New York City the street cleaners figured that sixteen million tons of paper were dumped out of office windows by the frenzied inhabitants during the Macarthur parade.

They had walked home under a bright moon, with a subtle note of doom let loose in so perfect a parting, the beginning of a forlorn end that could be fought against but not defeated.

The search for intelligent life

WAR BELL

The white tower transmits the ringing
a snake tenses it's tongue
hidden in an upset jar.
Two people call for help.
Everything is political war.
voices singing.
One flag to cover you, laid down in defeat.
This one to entice you, laid down at your feet.
Five brutal years
and the ripeness goes sour in a man.



There is no stone more precious.
Than the desire to avenge the innocent.
There is no sky more brilliant.
Than a morning of a traitors death.
And there is no health on earth
While butchers can be pardoned

-Paul Eluard

Notes on reality

Why have matters changed between men and women? Because today love is a condition of narcissism, because we've been taught possession or materialism rather than possessionless love. Those people in days of yore didn't have proper language, that is, correct great culture. They were just confused and loved out of confusion. Today, our teachers call this confusion "poetry" (and try to define each poem so that the language's no longer ambiguous) but in those days "poetry" was reality.

Notes on pornography

If we choose to involve ourselves in the anti-pornography movement, it would be helpful to keep in mind that many of us were the early victims of vice squad raids, that some of us are lesbian prostitutes and sex workers, that we have a long history of surviving and finding eachother in places other women were too frightened to walk through, that sexuality has always been our frontier. My lesbian history tells me that the vice squad is never our friend even when it is called in by women; that when the police rid a neighborhood of 'undesirables' the undesirables have also included street lesbians, that I must find another way to fight violence against women without doing violence to my lesbian self. I must find a way that does cooperate with the state forces against sexuality, forces that raided my bars, beat up my women, entrapped us in bathrooms, closed our plays and banned our books. Shame and guilt, censorship and oversimplified sexual judgments, the refusal to listen and the inability to respect sexual difference is not the world I have fought to create. The real challenge to all of us lesbians and feminists is whether we can eliminate violence against women without sacrificing woman's erotic complexities. I do not want to become a dictator of desire, not to other lesbians and not to gay men who have the courage to listen to their own voices.
- Joan Nestle

Gramsci

Gramsci saw, in a way that few marxists have done that the rule of one class over another does not depend on economic or physical power alone but rather on persuading the ruled to accept the system of beliefs of the ruling class and to share its social, cultural and moral values.

Post- imaginative listeners

He can hear the old invaders swan song.
In Neptune's weary depths walks a tired Adam.
His eyes the colour of placid mornings in an English village.
His class is a huge bottle
he has no notion that he is unfolding
like the sails of a ship
and will soon be discontent with it's limits.
This muddle gets into his mind.
The church of his body remains unaffected.

Sometimes simplicity is the rule. It is the giving up of structure, moving to process, the giving up of foundations and the moving to the network.

Contaminated by the pathologies of capitalism

Shit! To try to describe the condition of language without assuming political accompaniments, linguistic unity without base economic motives, without the insensibility of a class that doesn't give a shit about slang literary choice. Fucking professors, neo paleo patriots, assholes up to their ears in knowledge. - Pasolini


To begin a non exploitive history in which art is something put to immediate human ends, rather than something destined for the brilliant collection, the dramatised auction room, the sanctuary of the museum, the graphic tomb of the expensive art book.
As men we must no longer take refuge in the cultural identities that has been constructed for us. We should fight against it with all our violence and love; at the same time struggle to understand it, because with understanding we can begin to know ourselves.

The Forgotten- by Sue coe 

Commodity fetishism is the distinguishing mark of our culture

Reconstructivists are trying to make the transition from eurocentric patriarchal thinking and the dominator model of culture, toward an aesthetic of interconnectedness, social responsibility and ecological attunement.

Democracies and authoritarian regimes sometimes offer the same rationales for failing to prosecute torturers. The morale of the security forces, for example, is sacred in a democracy as it is in an undemocratic regime. Putting soldiers or policemen on the witness stand is politically dangerous. They might, after all, name high-ranking officials or public officials who sanctioned the treatment.

Reading: Sylvere Lotringer
Gramsci
Lawrence E. Cahoone

Not a poem about belly buttons

Out or in which are you
who is so languid
to stress and strain
this broken limb on
a soldiers wandering

In or out which are you
who is so modern
to have fallen among
the bare-headed ranks

Out or in which are you
who sat inside disturbed
while the police dragged
your loved ones away

In or out which are you
who saw the workers burn
but went on breaking unions anyway

Out or in which are you
who derived love from this labor
Where is depressions reward?
We dodge like fish between the lines

In or out which are you
who were the child-keepers
of mediocre educations

Out or in which are you
who wrote out of bitterness
robbed of the ability to communicate

Statement of class war

Just as sexism, competition and greed must be overcome, in order for there to be a defining of our sexuality. So must it be overcome if there is to be a real death of the old social order and a birth of a really new one. Hope for society lies in an end to mastery of people by other people, of people by property and all life by the death culture(oppressive traditions, worn out ideas, the desire for profit, plunder and blood.) This means class war- class war is society's mechanism for hope, but it must be carried out by enlighten warriors, not by elites and not corrupted by dogmatic party allegiance.

Notes on art and destruction

Art that is essentially social and purposeful, art that rejects the myths of neutrality and autonomy. The subtext of social responsibility is missing in our aesthetic models, and the challenge of the future will be to transcend the disconnectedness and separation of the aesthetic from the social that existed within modernism.

....and a strong angel picked up a rock like a large grindstone and flung it into the sea, saying, "With such clatter and vehemence shall fall this great Babylon and it shall be heard of no more".

One of those flowers named poet

A war of doggerel against public relations.
It is our nature to change.
We come dressed to live; our aims have little value.

The vague searches down old streets filled with lumbering cars
have little value.
The clean slate and the body in the lake
have little value.
It is time for the young to retire!
Time for speech to move secretly over the shoulder.
It is time for the incisive horse to trample the weightless thistledown
under it's crooked hooves.
It is time for the hops of destruction
to confuse the ill-tempered shopkeepers.
Time to rebuild our damaged heaven.
Time to cultivate a common love.

The clay head has grown horns

Everybody say they are positive. I am the negative man, come to spoil all the positive peoples plans. I make pictures, can't make pictures without a negative. I am extremely negative. I don't want to be what someone else is./


However I came to no longer feel the need for musical structure. Its absence could in fact blur the distinction between art and life. An individual can hear sound as music (enjoy living) whether or not they are at a concert./

The decisive moment in human evolution is perpetual. That is why the revolutionary spiritual movements that declare all former things worthless are in the right, for nothing yet has happen./

Destruction means criticism and repudiation; it means revolution. It involves reasoning things out, which is construction. Put destruction first, and in the process you have construction./

Syntax, like government, can only be obeyed./

Value chances when they come your way

I hardly ever talk; words seem such a waste and they are none of them true. No one has yet invented a language from my point of view. Human life or heroin life? I've tried them both: and I don't regret having chosen as I did. (You can't argue with the choice of the soul) Of coarse if you count time by years, you're very likely right, but what have the calculations of astronomers to do with the life of the soul. Before I started heroin year followed year and nothing worthwhile happened. It was like a child scribbling in a ledger. Now that I got into the heroin life, a minute or an hour- I don't know which and I don't care- contains more real life than any five years period in my unregenerate days. You talk of death, why shouldn't you? It's perfectly right for you. You animals have to die and you know it. But I am very far from sure that I shall ever die; and I'm as indifferent to that idea as I am to any other.

Experiments with form

return for an ordinary number of kisses
he would have to listen
couldn't remember how to find the best spot
fumio until you see her behind
had taught him and his voice was that of a conductor
calling many idiots in this world
and having said it I have in 1980
discussing the logistics of a video
documentary I was making on
and the tables of the ancestors
around us look straight
will add nothing unless powered by
necessity a river bank the whole
thing is sordid embarrassing a fraud
the act funny about us
when we say we're in love
before accounts diners club and the new hotels
has dove tailed
the closest approx

The tread that I followed from Zola to Henry Miller to Kenneth Patchen led to John Cage, in particular his book silence- about a year before a friend and I had smoked some 'Black Leb' and while "under the influence" of the hash we hit upon the idea of constructing poems using crossword puzzle clues from the daily paper, not as elaborate as Cage's I ching chance operations method- never the less it was hours of fun. I have always favored content over form. Form can take of itself. The above text was written using five different books and a bag of scrabble tiles.

Distillation of Note Book Two( continues)

Sweet clearness you give a semblance of a life, a system of worship that is not built on a foundation of rotten lies. This life is not returnable.
I'd been sorting through my messages, seeing what I could pass on, although I knew that I had become hardened to the horror, so I figured everyone else had too.

We are not arranging things in order(that's the function of the utilities): We are merely facilitating processes so that anything can happen.

.....where love is a chemical process 

How shooting stars are made

The moon raised a generous eyebrow
as it bantered with a group of adventurous stars
who were intent on having a race
across the vast night sky
One little star with a point to prove
ran so fast that it vanished in a streak of light
They all laughed at such a foolish little star

However somewhere on a distant planet
two lovers lay holding hands
they saw the beautiful star shoot across the sky
"What a sight" they said
"Such lustre and colour"
"This night is truly a special one" they both agreed
Soon they fell asleep contented in each others arms

By the light of morning they kissed, parted,
never to meet again.

Confused, desired; Poor wild today!

Now as we watch our gardens darken
the singers that we should have been are silent
The light eludes the rash and holy alike
Our once held love is lost by hands slack as rags
tarnished by the filth of coins
Our fallen instruments rot on the ground
The fools of God have won the day
Every flowery tree is dead
And some cry in the bitter snow
And some giggle with the pimps in a hangman's bed

The last sun is about to set on a sea of blood
Prisoners grind themselves raw against the bars
A million get up on the cross
while a million bang the nails in

We are on the wheel of murder and of hunger
fear and pain
We have lost our spirit, our reason and our world
Our 'savage' beasts are locked inside

In our name it is done
We do nothing to stop it except salute our own consumption
Not once did we sing out for life
We conquered all, put hate on every face
As we celebrate the final victory
the doomed bay out their righteous marks
winners in a butchers race


This was a reworking of a poem called Lament for the makers of songs by Kenneth Patchen
who I still consider to be one of the most honest voices of 20th century American literature

The Ten Components (made a false measure).....

between the north and the south
You will not see the colour film in the sea birds eye
You shall not hear the flesh tear like old lace upon the bones
Lucky thirst, you chose the poison that excludes the saint
Lay bare the bully that satisfies the sinner

WE PUT UP WITH THIS?


Family in a tin

You return to the cupboard
The tin sits where it has always sat
since the day you were born
and the fruit goes into it

Family in a tin you can not ring the changes
it's cold biblical stripes you wear

Part of the zero

There are things in the shop windows
There is dinner on the table
While half a thousand million joggers
make their way to work
We take one bite and keep returning
to the flavor that made us feel good

Money for the missionary
Blood for the banker
Business for the company
And oil for the tanker
So it goes around again
The regular pattern of existence
or one version of it at least

The part of zero is a bad fitting hat on a windy day.

A novel without points: Return of a freak body.

Freak body is a scientist who is a politician, who holds poetry back- so it leaves things as they are.
This gas animal surrounding electric fires, broken trust is all it offers. Trust is disposed of because we are all potential abusers. It's a well worn variation on a familiar theme.
The heart is false that beats at home. And the man at the cross-roads respects the woman's 'primitive' wanting. Did she call out in the army lights, she the origin of man, legs muddied, face coloured, dragged to her back, while a leader of men proves he's complete. And there is nothing interesting about the masonry figures that watch from the wood's, as he does his precise work.
She is found at the side of the road. The poisonous clamor of hypocrisy condensing into mercy is the bird song that I hear.

This has to do with a story I read in the newspaper about a woman who was raped by an American soldier, I can't remember in which country it was now, somewhere in the South pacific perhaps. Has my attitude towards rape changed? ....Well I think my understanding has become more developed, mainly from listening to close female friends talk about their experiences.
Twenty years ago my involvement in sexual politics had more to do with my desire to please the feminist women in my life, more than the desire to change the conditions of my male identity within this culture. That has certainly changed, I feel more comfortable as a man, because somewhere along the line I realized that identity was not a fixed thing, and that I could start behaving differently if I chose to. What I wonder now is have I stopped seeking change in my life? Do you reach a certain age when confronting yourself becomes harder to do- the act of thinking against yourself-?

Chick peas and vegetables in spicy peanut sauce

5 handfuls of chick peas (they must be soaked for 3 days and 3 nights by your kind and generous friend Lisa)
1 onion (from the Safeway skip)
5 cloves of garlic
4 potatoes ( small round ones from Food not bombs)
1 carrots (salvaged from the fridge)

Sauce

half tea-spoon coriander
half tea-spoon cayenne pepper
half tea-spoon sea salt
half tea-spoon black pepper
half tea-spoon curry powder
half tea-spoon cumin
2 tea-spoons peanut butter (stolen from Tesco)
4 squirts of Taipan black bean sauce( given to you by your friend Dave)


I remember having the realization when I was cooking this meal that the ingredients had been gathered together in a variety of different ways. Two items were gifts from generous friends, whose presence in my life were invaluable to my physical and mental health and I shall never forget their kindness. The rest of the food for the meal came by way of my own resourcefulness, which at the time was just something I learnt how to do. Now it is a source of pride,that I was able for years to survive with little or no money. Capitalism has a great talent for creating waste and I was lucky enough to meet some good hearted people who where happy to pass on their knowledge of the best skips (dumpters), the best soup kitchens, free food banks, plus I had no quarms about shop-lifting from big supermarkets......as the song says....I will survive.... and I did. But I have no desire to return to those days. At the moment my rent is paid,I have money for food, can even go to a restaurant, buy a C.D. or a book(and I have a computer)...what more do I need.

Emile Zola and the act of engagement

Zola progress to comfort.
Dreyfus on devils island.
I accuse you of racism
and declare class war.
No longer comfortable ( nice house in Surrey)
Had to seek exile.

'Hankering after apostleship was one
of Zola's most marked characteristics.'

"and it was I alone of my own free will
who chose you, you who are the loftiest
and most immediate emanation of French justice".
July in London.


I was reading a lot of Zola books back then and enjoying them immensely. I was obsessed with Paris, the old streets of Paris, the Paris of the 1930's. Mostly through the books of Zola, Maupassant, Henry Miller and the photography of Brassai. I had a street map on my bedroom wall and would spend hours studying it.Years later I spent a month there visiting a friend, by the end of my stay I realized I had reached the perfect closure to my love affair with Paris- it was just another city and 'great art' could be created anywhere and by anyone, at anytime. I am still impressed by Zola's willingness to get involved at the level he did.

www.wfu.edu/~sinclair/dreyfus.htm

The mysterious nothingness of money

I see the cut of their clothes, their faces radiate comfort. "Good afternoon, I say stepping in their path, I was wondering and I hate to ask this but could you spare a little money." There is a silence. "Yes......yes...we can....here my husband.... Gerald....give the man..." I fix my eyes on the husband. "It's just that I'm trying to finnish this piece of writing and I'm a bit low on funds....sorry this must be so......I'm really sorry....Perhaps I should." "No, no, here's 5 pounds , get yourself a coffee or something." Do I: a) Take the money, thank them kindly, then spend it on beer and smokes. b)Take the money, thank them kindly, then spend it on food. c)Take the money, spit on it, screw it up and chuck it at their feet saying "I won't be bought off with the money of a guilty class".

My attitude towards money has remain consistent. I view it as a unavoidable necessity. I need a roof over my head. I need food. I need money to pay for those basic necessities. I have never had any ambition to pursue wealth. When I have money I try and enjoy spending it. When I don't have money I maintain an optimistic outlook that I will get more somehow. So far this has worked out. There is the danger of romantisizing poverty,especaily when you are young, but there is nothing romantic about the howling pain of a rotten tooth you can't afford to get fixed. I also see the first stirrings of a class consciousness in this entry, which didn't fully develop until about ten years later.

Distillation of notebook two (1984)

I think it was Oliver Cromwell who remarked; after the massacre of an entire Irish village by British soldiers under his command, a high percentage of those being children- "If we kill the nits we won't have to deal with the lice"-
I'm sitting in a pub in Cork, afraid and ashamed to open my mouth, fearing that my accent will leave a foul stench in the air. I hate it, I hate it all. The clinking of glasses at the cricket match on Ladies Day, in the special members stand. I hate being British.-

Now it is over 20 years later, and I intend to post the complete contents of the note book I kept in 1984,(all notebook entries will appear in italics) mainly to see who I was back then and if I have changed much, I want to cross-examine my opinions and belief systems. Well, I've come to terms with the fact that I'm British...can't really change that.... I distance myself from what has been done(and continues to be done) in the name of the British people by the monarchies and the governments of that land. I identify with a historical tradition of resistance to these policies, they are my people and I am proud to stand with them.

Grit your teeth in the face of the gale